Solitude and Servitude
by Shookenup
Summary: Cullen Rutherford, post Kinloch hold, struggles to come to terms with the horrors he faced, and struggles to grasp the pieces of his dwindling faith. Labeling as T in case of sensitive topics.


**Solitude and Servitude**

" _Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost. I am not alone. Even as I stumble on the path with my eyes closed, yet I see The Light is here."_

It was a prayer spoken many times by the Templars, and a verse that had brought comfort to Cullen Rutherford in previous days. They were the words that got him through sleepless nights, and awry harrowings. They had helped him through the dark images of mages laying lifeless, through every mistake that had caused somebody pain.

Now though, it was a reminder of darkness. A reminder of the many times he had begged for the Maker to step in, for the Maker's Light to rid him of the demons that spent all too long tormenting him in the shadows. It was a reminder of his bruised knees, still sore from kneeling for so long begging for something that never did come.

Mostly, it was a reminder that in the darkest hour at Kinloch Hold, the Maker hadn't come. There was no higher power that had come to guide him through the shadows, and he had in fact been left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond.

When his peers spoke the words, he kept his head bowed, pleased for a few moments where they couldn't see him begin to crumble, where they couldn't see his shattered faith and reddened eyes from the nights he was left without rest. Cullen however, knew better than to close his eyes for the prayers he now refused to speak, as if his throat had been washed of the words. When he closed his eyes, there were images of all too many demons, the images of his family dead in front of his own eyes, the images the demons had placed in his mind to break him. Desire, Rage, Fear, Despair.

He went about his actions every day, meals and prayer, guard rotations and supervising the training of apprentices. It was an attempt to bring some, any, sense of normality back to his life. Anyone could see from his eyes alone that the man should have been relieved of duty, he wasn't even sure he would have been able to stand up to an abomination if the situation were to arise, but after the incident they were too short on Templars to make exceptions.

He lifted his head once the prayers had finished after what felt like a lifetime, looking about only to realize he was left with only one person in the room, a young elven mage who stared at the statue of Andraste with curious eyes. "Do you think there really is someone watching us?" She asked, looking over to Cullen only to avert her eyes again as she met his for a brief second. He tried not to flinch away. "Do you think they sent the Grey Wardens to us?"

He knew he had to seem strong, he knew the answer should have been 'the Maker watches over all of his children, he will guide us.' Cullen knew that his duty should be to serve the chantry, to serve the Templars. The words never came though, and he realized he was watching the mage almost too carefully. She couldn't have been old enough to control her magic if a situation came about, she couldn't know how to resist a possession. She was dangerous, just like the rest of them.

He opened his mouth to speak, then sighed and stood instead. He tried to gather up the nerve to speak. "They came to us for help, not to save us. It was luck, not divine intervention." The young man didn't wait for a response as he turned heel and walked out of the chantry room.

The food in the hall later that day felt almost tasteless, the way it had for weeks. The tension between Templar and mage was still thick enough that you could have cut it with a knife, but there was laughter that seemed out of place, there were smiles between the two that were painfully forced. Cullen ate quickly, and retreated to his quarters for the evening.

He crouched down before bed to say his prayer, as was always routine, and was once again immersed into the shadow of Uldred and his abominations, once again thrown headfirst into memories he wished he could forget. He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose and got up, sitting on his cot and starting the tedious process of taking off the layers of armour that kept him safe during the day.

" _I can not see the path. Perhaps there is only the abyss. Trembling, I step forward, in darkness enveloped. Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the maker be my guide."_ He kept speaking the words, as if they would save him from whatever he was feeling. " _Maker, my enemies are abundant. Many are those who rise up against me. But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion, should they set themselves against me."_ His eyes found the window, trying to find the truth in the next words.

" _In the long hours of the night when hope has abandoned me, I still see the stars and know your Light remains."_

There were a few deep breaths as he tried to calm the feeling of panic setting in as the sun set and darkness began to fall on the room. " _You have walked beside me down the paths where a thousand arrows sought my flesh. You have stood with me when all others have forsaken me. I have faced armies with You as my shield, and though I bear scars beyond counting, nothing can break me except Your absence."_

He knew that was what had broken him truly. He knew the images the demons had shown were fake, he knew as they came for him that with he could face anything with the Maker by his side, but despite a life of servitude, the Maker had not been there to help him in the darkest hour, which stung more than the scars and arrows and figurative armies in the prayers. In his worst fear, there had been no Maker's Light. There had been nothing but stone walls, abominations, and darkness.

He only stopped the hymn when he finally reached the line " _What you have created, no one can tear asunder."_ There was nothing more to say, nothing else that could bring him solitude. For what he created had been teared asunder, and Cullen was left to pick up his own pieces in silence.


End file.
